


Your Bright and Tiny Spark

by imaginary_iby



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-28
Updated: 2012-10-10
Packaged: 2017-11-15 04:50:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/523325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imaginary_iby/pseuds/imaginary_iby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Steve and Danny haul a lumpy mattress onto the back of Steve's boat, and little more than a certain straw hat is worn.</p><p>Second chapter: I briefly strand Danny on an increasingly floppy dinghy with Steve and five other SEALs, in the Australian outback.  For reasons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

With a purr of satisfaction, Danny wiggles around on the small lumpy mattress, stretching this way and that. He flings a hand above his head, compact fingers flexing before half-heartedly tugging the fitted sheet back into place. (Steve has a pesky – and adorable - habit of gripping it wildly and pulling it askew when he gets close). The other hand flops onto his belly, idly scratching the trail of hair beneath his navel. His legs, pale as ever but heavy with the sleepy satisfaction of sex, finally come to a rest, spread wide and cushioned by the worn springs. 

Ridiculously comfortable, he breathes deeply and takes in his surroundings.

He can smell the crisp salt of the ocean as it swirls gently all around, its scent carried on a soothing Hawaiian breeze. He can smell the way the salt has melded with the various bits and bobs of John’s boat. Steve’s boat, really – which in a funny turn of events makes it _his,_ too. He can’t honestly say that he’d ever cared to own a boat, but Steve’s expression when he’d called it theirs had been so tentative and hopeful that Danny couldn’t help but accept shared-ownership.

Every lever, every screw, every joint is well-worn, but also well cared for. It isn’t the boat of a passive owner, hoping only to entertain in luxury – it is the boat of a person who truly feels something for the sea.

Danny… doesn’t really get it. He doesn’t get it at all. Nevertheless, he loves watching Steve as he reverently tends to the boat’s idiosyncrasies, guiding them this way and that, reading the water in a way that Danny himself never could.

He can hear the noises of the night, the gentle lapping of calm waters against the hull. (Steve takes every opportunity to school him in nautical terms). There is the occasional splash as some sort of night-creature, (the size and shape of which he dares not contemplate), snags a midnight meal; the gentle tinkling of the wooden wind chimes that hang from a beam by the front of the boat. ( _The bow_ , Danny thinks proudly, _ha! Take that, Steve_ ). There is the distant happy chattering from the shore as Hawaiian life thunders on - and the closer calls of nearby boats as night-fisherman go about their business. 

There is also the comforting, familiar sound of Steve himself, pottering around by the controls, bare feet shuffling this way and that on the wooden floor.

Letting the scents and sounds of the ocean, of O’ahu, wash over him, Danny flutters his lashes closed. He breathes deeply, stretches once more, before blinking his eyes open to take in the sky above him. 

Away from the bright lights of Waikiki, the sky sparkles above him, an inky blue canvas sprinkled liberally with glimmering stars. He begins to draw lines between them, and just as he’s about done mapping out Ursa Minor, Steve’s smiling face suddenly looms over him, flooding his field of vision.

Steve is utterly naked. Utterly naked, that is, save for the ridiculous brimmed straw hat that he’s been proudly wearing all day, even now in the dead of night. Earlier, when Steve had dropped to his knees in front of Danny, Danny had firmly insisted upon its immediate removal. Steve had only complied because he’d quickly realized that the hat got in the way of watching Danny’s face as it moved through various expressions of pleasure. Nevertheless, once Steve had swallowed him down, the hat had quickly returned. Much to Danny’s chagrin. 

Now though, Steve looks so happy, beaming down at him and holding out a sweaty Longboard. So happy that Danny doesn’t have a hope of holding in his chuckle. “You’re such a goof, babe,” he says, sitting up and settling his back against the side of the boat. He takes the beer, tipping it in thanks at Steve who has sunk down by his side. Danny’s feet dangle over the edge of the mattress; Steve’s are in another zip-code entirely – he’s far too big and tall for it, but he looks happy and comfortable all the same.

Earlier, at the marina, they’d received some rather knowing glances when they’d hauled the mattress onto the deck of the boat, wedging it in the back so that it was open to the sky. Danny had pushed down his sense of propriety, trying instead to focus on the happy buzz that was vibrating off Steve. Steve, who was so obviously delighted at the prospect of the ocean and Danny all wrapped up in one.

And so now they sit, squashed together on an old lumpy mattress that shifts a little with every rock of the waves. The beer bottle passes between them until it’s empty; their arms and hips and thighs press tight together, a comforting warmth against the soft nip in the air. Danny feels Steve grow heavy and sleepy beside him, and he can’t help but smile when Steve slides further down, his head pillowing on the crease of Danny’s hip.

As he looks up at the sparkling stars, one hand buried in the soft mess of Steve’s hair, Danny can’t help but think that, _yeah,_ maybe he gets it after all.


	2. Six SEALs, One Detective and A Dinghy for Luck.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The title says it all, really. In which I briefly strand Danny and six SEALs in a floppy dinghy in the Australian outback. For reasons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A tiny little snippet that I wrote on tumblr. I didn't know where else to put this, truth be told, so I thought I'd file it under the umbrella of Boating Shenanigans. Not to be taken seriously. :D

Glaring the glare of a man well at the end of his tether, Danny pushed his sopping wet hair out of his face. A thick rain was pelting down, splattering against him, his companions, their pathetic little dinghy and the stupid murky brown water that said dinghy was currently hurtling around in. With less and less buoyancy. 

Six sets of eyes all regarded Danny warily, and there were several aborted winces when the chaotic rain pushed his blonde hair back down over his eyebrows once more.

Steve, as appointed ambassador for all things SEALish, began to speak. “Really Danny, it’s fine.” He rested his hand on Danny’s shoulder, his familiar fingers giving the cold muscles there a gentle squeeze.

Danny - having moved beyond wild gesticulation, have passed through the quivering silence of apoplexy - had now settled into a calm acceptance of the surreality of his life. He nodded, transfixed, as he watched fat droplets beat against the surface of the raging river. “Yeah,” he said absently. “It’s going to be totally fine.”

There was a collective sigh. Bobcat, (what!?), the Team Leader, had honestly not liked their chances in the face of the furious Detective. The blonde might not have had much experience on the water, (or, indeed, anything greater than a bath tub), but he knew his way around a gun better than most SEALs, and what he lacked in height he made up for in shoulders and furious determination.

Fortunately, Steve had taken the brunt of the Detective’s ire thus far. Bobcat had almost been wondering what exactly his old Commander saw in the man, until Ice, the engineer, had given Steve grief. Danny had rounded on him with a startling fury, all protection and defense, and had put Ice back in his place with nary a how-do-you-do. Clearly, bitching Steve out was a one-man job.

And so there they were. Hurtling down a raging brown river in an increasingly floppy dinghy, the rocks too jagged for them to make a break for it. One whinging but beloved Detective, six SEALs happy in the face of watery adversity but nervous in the presence of Jersey spitfires, and a rather large crocodile coming right for their boat. Dinghy, rather.

“Steven!”


End file.
